


Fluffy Problems

by There_lies_my_sanity



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A lot of Plush Cats, Christmas Eve, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Stuffed Toys, Time Skips, Yuri Plisetsky Needs a Hug, no stuffed animals were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 01:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17070767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/There_lies_my_sanity/pseuds/There_lies_my_sanity
Summary: Yuri won’t admit it, never in a million years, but...he has a problem.A soft, fluffy problem.It starts with a blanket.(In which Yuri has too much empathy, and he hates it.)





	Fluffy Problems

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhere between the boredom of existence and the pure disbelief of Christmas being so close, I wrote a thing. Based mostly off my own overabundance of both empathy and stuffed animals. Hope you enjoy!

Yuri won’t admit it, never in a million years, but...he has a problem.

A soft, fluffy problem.

It starts with a blanket.

Not a teddy bear; that would make too much sense. Not a stuffed cat or a doll or a figurine or, hell, even one of those creepy plastic owls you put on your porch to scare away smaller birds and nosy neighbors.

No, it starts with a blanket. It’s soft and thin and decorated with small, simplistic kittens in blue, pink, and green. Actually, it’s not soft. Maybe it was once, but as far back as Yuri can remember, it’s always been kind of rough and threadbare just from being washed so much.

But three-year-old him insists it’s the softest thing in the world anyway. He carries it with him everywhere--through the house, to the store, going out to eat. It sits with him at the breakfast table and keeps him warm as he watches television, is held in Yuri’s arms as he sleeps and dragged around behind him as he wanders the house. He names it Blankie because he’s a _very_ creative child.

It’s his most prized possession, that blanket. Three-by-three feet of comfort. 

Then his father brings home his first cat stuffed animal. His father doesn't come home often, but when he does, it’s always with a gift, as though that will make up for missing literally everything in Yuri’s life--birthdays, kindergarten graduation, Christmas. 

The cat is round and scraggly and its eyes are two different sizes, and it’s Yuri’s favorite thing in the world.

He doesn't get many other stuffed animals as he’s growing up. Just a misshapen octopus from a claw machine at the grocery store, a blue monkey from his grandmother the Christmas before she dies, and a fluffy white tiger that he saved up for three years to buy on his school field trip to the zoo. He gives the octopus to his younger sister, the monkey to his baby sister, and names the tiger Peanut Butter.

What? He’s only nine, at that point. He's allowed to be bad at naming things.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The first time someone throws him a stuffed animal after a skating performance, he cries.

He tires to pass it off as winning his first medal, but really, it’s because he’s holding a small, soft leopard with the _biggest_ brown eyes.

“You like your plush, then?” a reporter teases when she notices him squeezing the thing to his chest.

“I love cats,” Yuri chokes out honestly.

And thus blooms his reputation. He tries his best to keep a stoic disposition when he’s pelted with cat stuffed animals from all sides, but it still takes until he’s fourteen before he can let people shove them into trash bags to be taken home without flinching at the rough treatment.

Most skaters, he knows, don’t keep the majority of the things fans throw at them. Even Yuri does his best to donate as many as the stuffed animals and other little cat-related things. But giving them away _hurts_ when they’re looking at him with their big, sad eyes and soft fur and forlorn expressions just waiting for someone to _love them_.

So what if his bed is more stuffed animals than mattress? It’s comfortable, at least. 

He gives some to his sisters, too. He’s not about to let them grow up with as few toys as he had, after all, not when he has so many just sitting in his room. It’s hard, though, when he _knows_ his baby sister is gonna drool and chew on them.

It’s nice to see her snuggling them, though, even as she gnaws on their ears.

Not that he sees that often. He’d moved in with his grandpa in St. Petersburg when he got serious about ice skating, and he rarely goes back to his mother’s little apartment. He sends them money and stuffed cats and letters, and he gets the occasional letter from his sisters in return, but that’s about it.

Which is fine, really. He doesn't want to live in a cramped apartment with a depressed mother, a three-year-old, and a seven-year-old, anyway.

His room at his grandpa’s isn’t much bigger than the room he had back home, but at least he doesn't have to share it.

It quickly fills up with his stuffed animals. Everywhere but the shelf for his skating gear and medals is covered with the things; even his pillow houses two of them--his first cat plush, long since deemed ‘Boom Boom’, and Peanut Butter.

When he travels for competitions, they’re the two that go with him, as guilty as he feels playing favorites. And when he comes back from competitions, steps into his room, turns on the lights, and has to say hello to the ones he’s left behind...well. He’s beginning to think this is a bit of a problem.

So he donates some more, gives three whole bagfuls to his sisters, and clears off his bed. They’re still piled up in the corners and in his closet and scattered across his floor, but it’s better. 

He goes two nights straight without a wink of sleep, too busy feeling guilty and hoping they find good, loving homes.

It’s pathetic, is what it is. He’s supposed to be strong, unshakable. He’s supposed to be a tiger, fierce and proud, but here he is tearing up over inanimate objects.  
That doesn't stop him from apologizing to the panther he throws across the room in anger, nor does it keep him from bringing Boom Boom and Peanut Butter with him when he follows Viktor to Japan.

(He brings Blankie, too, but that’s between him and his overly sentimental brain.)

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

There’s a lot of reasons that Yuri spends almost as much time at Katsudon and VIktor’s place as his grandpa’s after the two of them move to Russia.

They’re disgusting, obviously, and sometimes he really, _really_ regrets coming over. He’s heard things. _Seen things_. Ugh.

But it’s worth it. Katsudon makes great food, and the more he eats at their house, the less he has to eat at his grandpa’s. Yuri may have won a gold medal, but that doesn't mean his family’s money problems are over. Far from it, actually; Skating costs a _lot._

He’ll never admit it, but Katsudon really does help with that. Viktor’s been rich his entire life, but Yuuri knows what it’s like to struggle. He packs Yuri lunches and steals VIktor’s credit card (much to Viktor’s delight) to buy Yuri a leopard printed coat for winter and sometimes, in the dead of night while Yuri’s alone in their kitchen, the teen will talk out loud about his stupid feelings, and if Yuuri is standing in the doorway listening, well. He never says a word, he lets Yuri pretend, and if once or twice he stepped in to wrap Yuri in a hug when the younger started crying, no one else has to know.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Katsudon and Viktor invite him over for their first Christmas Eve in Russia and Yuri _doesn't know why._

Don’t they want to bask in their lovey-dovey-ness? Why aren’t they in Japan, do they not want to see Yuuri’s parents? 

But there they are, sitting in their living room with an oversized pine tree in the corner, brightly colored presents underneath it, a fire crackling away in their fireplace, and lights hung from every available surface.

Yuri kicks of his shoes by the door and throws his coat on the ground with them. It’s frigid outside, which is the only reason he sits down on the couch and steals their blanket before he starts screaming at them.

“Why did you invite me over, anyway?” he asks after he’s done calling Katsudon out on the weight he still has from thanksgiving. He’s not sure why they celebrated thanksgiving, seeing as none of them are American, but apparently it’s something Katsudon and that phone-obsessed skater friend of his picked up in Detroit, and he wanted to carry on the tradition.

Yuri’s pretty sure it’s all just a ploy to get a break from Viktor’s frankly ridiculous diet, but whatever. They invited him, and he’s certainly not going to complain about free food, especially if he’s allowed to ignore his calorie consumption.

“Well, we figured you’d want to spend Christmas day with your grandfather,” Yuuri says, and there’s a smile on his face that never faltered even when Yuri insulted his protruding stomach and Viktor’s inability to say no to his fiance. He needs to up his game, or they're going to start thinking he _enjoys their presence._

“But we wanted to celebrate with you, too!” adds Viktor cheerfully, and he reaches over to ruffle Yuri’s hair. Yuri hisses. Viktor chuckles.

“And we got you a gift.” Katsudon hops up from the couch, ignoring Viktor’s whine at Katsudon’s desertion of his arms, and kneels down by the tree. “Well, I guess it’s actually more like…”

“Several,” Viktor says. “We got you several gifts.”

“Vitya likes to shop,” Yuuri giggles with a horrifically fond look at Viktor. 

Yuri gags. “Then stop flirting and give them to me.” He glowers at the two of them, pushing down the weird mixture of warmth and guilt in his chest. “And don’t expect anything in return. I wasn't the one who decided we should celebrate this ridiculous holiday.”

“Of course,” Katsudon says, and he exchanges a _look_ with Viktor that reminds Yuri of everything he despises about them. He then drops a bunch of boxes in front of Yuri, though, so the teen doesn't call him out on it.

Yuri slides off the couch for better present opening abilities and ignores the lovesick assholes watching him, Yuuri with a smile, Viktor with a camera, as he tears the paper off the first one.

It’s a mug, which is lame, but it’s got cat ears and a simplistic cat face design and the handle is supposed to look like a tail, so Yuri doesn't say anything.

The next one is a blanket patterned with reverse leopard print, yellow on black instead of black on yellow. It’s soft. Yuri absolutely does not cuddle it to his chest, nope, no way, he was just testing the fluffiness.

Three more boxes to go. Viktor, bouncing up and down, says, “Ooooh! Yura! Open the green one next!” and Yuri does, if only to shut him up.

It’s...skates.

Nice skates. Expensive skates. Skates that aren’t used, are brand new and shiny and…

Yuri takes a shaky breath and puts them to the side, gently, carefully.

“Are they your size?” Katsudon asks. “They’re the size of your old skates, but we weren’t sure if you needed bigger ones…”

“They’re--” Yuri’s voice sticks in his throat for a second, and he clears it. “They’re good.”

Yuri refuses to look at the definitely disgusting fond looks he’s getting.

The next box is T-shirts, two of them. One of them is black with tiger on it, poised ready to pounce. The other is one of those shirts with two seemingly random lines of symbols that, when you pinch them together right, says something not suited for polite company.

Yuuri bites his tongue very, very hard to keep from smiling.

The last box isn’t a box, but a bag. Yuri rips the tissue paper out violently and balls it up before throwing it at a dozing Makkachin, who moves just enough to bat it away playfully. Inside is…

“I know you probably get a lot of stuffed animals and such, but Vitya and I saw it and thought of you, so…” Katsudon probably shrugs, but Yuri can't look away from the contents of the bag.

It’s a baby tiger with big, sparkling green eyes. It’s scowling adorably, and when Yuri reaches in to pet it, he nearly melts because it’s _so so so soft._

He pulls it out and cradles it against his chest, onlookers be damned.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Yuri’s hanging out at Viktor and Katsudon’s place after practice one day when _it happens._

There’s tea in his cat mug, the one that lives in Viktor and Yuuri’s cabinet. There’s a reverse leopard print blanket blanket on his lap, the one that’s always draped over Viktor and Yuuri’s couch and that only he is allowed to use. Under the couch, where Viktor and Yuuri either haven’t found it or, if they have, haven’t commented on, is a soft, green-eyed tiger plush named Lightning Dagger-Claws, because of reasons.

He’s here alone now, Katsudon getting groceries and Viktor at the rink, so slowly, cautiously, as though that will make this any less pathetic, Yuri reaches under the couch to grab-

Warm, curly fur.

The horror turns his blood to ice and his breath to stone.

“Makkachin!” he yelps, and the dog wiggles out from under the couch--how did she get under there in the first place?!--with Lightning Dagger-Claws in her mouth. Yuri screeches and frantically, stupidly, grabs the stuffed animal.

_Riiiiiiiiiiiiip._

Makka whines and retreats at the noise, running for Katsudon and Viktor’s bedroom. Yuri collapses on the floor, hugging the plush and trying not to cry.

When he finally dares to glance down, he finds Lightning Dagger-Claws’s head dangling from threads, fluffy white stuffing blooming out of the wound. Yuri makes a sound that he’d be embarrassed about under any other circumstances and stubbornly ignores the wetness on his cheeks.

God, it’s just a _toy._ He should _not_ be so upset.

But he is. He’s so upset, in fact, that he doesn't notice the front door opening, doesn't hear the groceries being set down in the kitchen, doesn't register Yuuri’s presence until he says, softly, “Yura?”

Yuri sniffles angrily and hunches over, squeezing the toy tiger.

He feels Katsudon sit down beside him, put a hand on his shoulder. Against his better judgement, Yuri doesn't shake him off.

After a while, once he’s certain the tears have stopped, Yuri raises his head. Yuuri’s looking at him calmly, his thumb rubbing little circles on Yuri’s shoulder, and suddenly Yuri is _mad._

“It’s your stupid dog’s fault!” he yells. “Makka had my tiger! You should...you…”

He takes a shuddering breath, reaching for the burning anger and finding only sadness.

Yuri _hates_ sadness.

Katsudon starts running a hand through Yuri’s hair, and Yuri hates that, too.

“What’s wrong, Yura?” asks Yuuri, so softly that Yuri could pretend he didn’t hear. He knows Yuuri will let him.

But instead, he says, “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” replies Yuuri, and it sounds like he’s speaking from experience.

Slowly, Yuri opens his arms and reveals the ripped toy. He holds his breath, waiting for laughter, teasing, scoffing disbelief.

Yuuri just nods. “Makka ripped it?”

Yuri has to sniff again before he nods, which is embarrassing, but not more embarrassing than sitting in the middle of someone else’s living room crying over a toy, so.

“It’s stupid,” Yuri repeats. “I just…”

Yuuri draws him into a sort of half-embrace, and it’s a testament to how upset Yuri is that he doesn't pull away, settling for a simple aggravated huff.

“It’s not stupid,” Yuuri says, and before Yuri can protest he adds, “you just have a lot of empathy.”

“Empathy?” Yuri sneers.

Yuuri smiles, but it’s not a mean smile or a condescending smile or even a particularly happy smile, just gentle, so Yuri lets it slip. “It’s a good thing, Yura,” he assures.

Yuri hums, not sure about that.

“Don't worry.” Yuuri chuckles. “I’ll keep your secret.”

By the time Viktor comes home, Lightning Dagger-Claws had been taken away by Yuuri to places unknown and the two of them are cooking dinner. Well, Yuuri is cooking, and Yuri is playing on his phone while occasionally offering sarcastic comments.

Yuri tries his best not to think about the plush. He fails completely.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Yuri walks into the living room and stops short.

There, on the shelf, next to a poodle figurine, several pictures, and a small vase, is Lightning Dagger-Claws, head fully intact.

He couldn’t stop himself from running over there if he tried.

There are stitches, neat and small and mostly hidden under thick, soft fur, but otherwise it’s like the episode with Makkachin never happened. It smells like laundry detergent when Yuri buries his face in it to hide the sharp, trembling twist of his mouth.

“My mother taught me how to sew,” Katsudon announces casually from the kitchen. Yuri looks up to find him watching with soft eyes and a softer smile.

“You know,” Viktor announces from out of sight, as unsubtle as always, “We have to keep all of our fragile things on high shelves, or Makka will try to eat them. We lost a lot of good tea cups like that.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, exasperated, as he slips back into the kitchen, “You put those cups where Makka could reach them on purpose, don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“They were a gift from my mother!”

“You hated them.”

“...In my defense, that combination of orange and green was _horrid_. Not to mention they didn’t match the decor at all.”

This time, it’s not a grimace he hides in Lightning Dagger-Claws’s fur, but a smile.

Not that he’ll admit it, never in a million years.


End file.
